


Circles of Light

by WhoopsOK



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Cure, Demon Dean Winchester, Extremely Dubious Consent, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Magical Healing Ass, Potion For Lube, Potions, Sex Magic, Sibling Incest, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 15:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13484853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: "As a demon, Dean trusts this to be true: Sam Winchester is not stupid, but loves his brother more than enough to be quite foolish."(Sam puts himself on the line attempting to use sex magic to cure Dean, because he'd do anything for his brother, of course he would.)Heed the tags.





	Circles of Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omgbubblesomg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the wincest version of 10x03](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/353853) by hellhound's prey. 



> A Fandom Loves Puerto Rico fill for the lovely and patient omgbubblesomg! Inspired by the aforementioned fanart by hellhoundsprey (who’s name I just realized is not, in fact, hellhound _sprey_ , whoops).
> 
> Explanation of consent issues down in the end notes for anyone who wants a heads up.

Making the potion is a simple enough process. Sam even manages to track down all the ingredients without leaving the bunker’s archives. If he doesn’t think too hard about the ritual he intends to use it in, it almost feels like a normal case.

Taking a blessed knife – because _why not_ , at this point – he mixes his own blood into the mixture before turning the blade on the candles he’s gathered, carefully carving sigils into the wax. He’s made enough of the potion that it’s nearly three batches; one to anoint the candles and the other two, because, well… He doesn’t know what Dean will do to him like this, after Sam’s had him captive this long, so it’s better to be prepared.

Some of the potion he takes via shot glass, pounding it down as quickly as he can and washing away the lingering bitter taste with two shots of Quervo. Then, after cleaning and _thoroughly_ stretching himself, he loads the rest into a bulb syringe. As specified in the lore, he is liberal in the insertion, even if he shakes as he squeezes several bulbs-worth inside himself. He doesn’t fight the trembling at first; gives the dread and shame five minutes, before he gets dressed and goes to the basement.

There’s a large duffle bag that’s about one doctor short of a trauma center conveniently outside the door and he makes himself take comfort in that. Five candles. He’s just got to hold on through five candles.

He’s done all he can to prepare for the worst, so – drawing a breath like someone about to jump in with both feet and no Plan B – he enters the basement.

//

Sam is not stupid.

Nobody who’s made it this far into a life like theirs _could_ be. There are too many places in _The Winchester Gospel_ were one little misstep could’ve ended it all for Sam, for _everyone Sam knows_. For all the shit the Winchesters have been through, they still acknowledge that they have been _very_ lucky in many respects. Lucky, sure, but Sam is also just _not_ _stupid._

Dean knows this.

Even as he is right now, soul as twisted as it’s ever been, Dean knows his brother. Sam is clever and quick on his feet. Dean has witnessed it repeatedly throughout their lives and then, lastly, when Sam trapped him in here. Yeah, Dean doesn’t have to look up to see the devil’s traps on the ceiling, _in_ the ceiling, on the floor, in the walls. He can feel them pressing in on all sides, smothering.

Dean flexes his power, feels a rush of darkness as it roils under his skin, presses clumsily out to the edges of the trap before curling away, closer still than the day before. No, he’s not going anywhere just yet. Sam is too smart to trust him and Dean isn’t even inclined to try and make him. This is him, this stronger, _better_ version is who he was always meant to be.

 Honestly, deep down, Dean thinks Sam is smart enough to know that there’s no coming back from this. But Dean also knows that Sam loves him and has more faith in him than anything else in their lives. Hubris is not Dean’s biggest flaw, but as a demon, it grows and swells just like every other sin.  As a demon, Dean trusts this to be true: Sam Winchester is not stupid, but loves his brother more than enough to be quite _foolish_.

So when Sam comes in, toting blessed candles and a determined look, Dean knows he’s got an opportunity knocking. The urge to twine his fingers through Sam’s guts is so visceral he can very nearly feel it happening already, it has him practically drooling in more ways than one.

“Hiya, Sammy,” he crows, as his brother skirts the edge of the trap, lighting candles as he goes. “Can’t have a romantic candle lit dinner with no wine!”

Sam’s eyes catch on him briefly, before going back to what he’s doing. It was a very _Old Dean_ joke to make. Dean doesn’t make them out of any since of familiarity, but because if anything, those hurt Sam the most without even trying. Sam’s pain has always been special to Dean, more so now that he can smell it.

Still, it’s tainted a little by the confidence in Sam’s eyes when he lights the last candle and turns to face Dean. “You can have whatever you want,” he says, “After you let me help you.”

“ _Help me?_ ”

“It’s not too late,” Sam continues, a touch desperately.

“To _cure_ me?” Dean laughs, “Dude, your blood ain’t pure enough for that, we both know that cherry got popped in hell.”

Sam’s eyes flinch hurt again and Dean takes a breath of his stinging pain, takes a step towards him. It’s gratifying when Sam takes a half step back before he can catch himself, even with the circle’s barrier between them. Still, it’s the only tell he gives as Dean presses closer, feeling the edges of his soul seep out of his body, dark and sharp toothed. Sam can’t see it but judging by the way his blood drains from his face, he must feel it. The barrier won’t hold Dean for much longer, they both know it. This is Sam’s Hail Mary and Dean is _delighted_ at the chance of tearing it apart. Or…

Dean smile is a facile of the one stretching out from inside, fanged and viscous, but he knows the message gets across, the lasciviousness of it. “Course, if you want it _that_ again…”

“Stop,” Sam grits, but he looks pale and startled. “That’s not—”

“Is that what this is?” Dean continues, tongue on his lower lip. “Your ass _has_ been pretty tight lately, you wanna get some blood on my dick?”

“You wouldn’t do that to me,” Sam says with so much confidence Dean’s ire rises.

“You think so?” he sneers, “You wanna know how many times I’ve jerked it to you? How close I came to saying ‘fuck it’ and just _taking you_?” Dean latches onto the thin flare of panic in Sam’s eyes, “What, you never knew?”

Sam’s face twists, accusatory. “You _never—_ ”

“Smart little Sammy and all his big talk of college,” Dean says, drinking in the sick horror in Sam’s wide eyes, “Second the word _Stanford_ came out of your mouth, I should’ve just given in.” He lets a growl seep into his voice, “Wanted to beat the shit out of you, fuck you until law school was just a pipe dream and you didn’t know anything but my name. Never even kiss your _ungrateful fucking mouth_.”

Sam is sweating, his voice shakes. “That’s _not_ true.”

How much of it is true? Dean isn’t sure, some of it at least, he’d tried not to let himself think about it at the time. Whether or not it’s true doesn’t really matter, anyway. The thought’s hooked itself in Sam’s head, Dean can see it. He’ll question it now, question whether Dean always wanted to ruin him.

Dean can do better than make him doubt.

“I’m stronger now, Sammy, I could do it,” and he could. Dean is no longer just a body, he’s a _soul_. He’s raw power, every desire he’s ever held back to protect his little brother, his little Sammy, flung to the forefront of his mind unbridled _._ “I could break you open so pretty, sweetheart.”

“That’s not going to work, Dean, I _know_ you. You’re not gonna hurt me,” Sam insists, stupid, _stupid, stepping closer and reaching out._ Their father would be ashamed. So would Dean in another life, but right now, he’s ecstatic, he’s raging and feeling out of his own skin and anchored in it all the same.

Right now, Dean’s hard enough to go for hours and Sam is standing too close.

Really, it’s not Dean’s fault – Sam is smart.

“I mean too much to you, I know you still—”

Even desperate, he really should’ve known better than to try and touch.

//

Sam makes a half aborted sound when he’s slung face first into the ground, mind spinning out a little when he tastes blood. It’s about what he’d expected, but still, the strength with which he’s thrown down leaves him slightly disoriented.

When Dean begins honest to goodness _clawing_ his clothes away, he reminds the panic that flares up bright and sharp in his mind that this is the plan. This is _his_ plan and it’s going the right way. He’s dizzy and instinct tells him to fight, but he reminds himself that that’s ok, too. He can’t hurt Dean like this, not really, Dean is so much stronger than him right now, he’s almost completely pinned to the floor. He reminds himself not to be afraid – of or for Dean. No matter what happens—

“Gonna fucking ruin you.”

—there’s a med kit just outside and deep down Dean loves him more than his own life and would never really kill him and will forgive Sam for anything and Sam did this to save him so it has to work it really _just has to_.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? This is you giving up, you’re fucking _giving up on me!!_ ”

Still, he can’t help the way he’s shouting Dean’s name. Nothing else, no begging because he’s not sure what he’d be begging for. The wounded, choked out sound he makes when Dean shoves into him – cruelly, without even _trying_ his fingers –feels like it shreds his throat and a large part of his higher thought. Partly because, unexpectedly, it doesn’t hurt like it should.

Sam can feel wisps of magic crawling across his skin, sinking numbly into him, out from where Dean is hard inside him. Something like shame starts to creep up the back of his throat because, yes, Dean is too heavy on his back and his grip on Sam’s wrists, in Sam’s hair pinning his face to the floor are too tight, but Sam can feel past the pain. Dean feels _good_ more than anything. It’s like Dean being pressed into him is the only reason he’s even _capable_ of feeling pleasure.

Considering everything else about this situation, there’s no real reason that thought should cause such horror within him, but it _terrifies_ Sam to think, _it feels like Dean was made to be in him_. He pants out when Dean draws back before fucking down, deeper into him, breath hot against his ear as he groans. Sam’s skin prickles, arousal growing hot and heavy between his legs.

“You’re so fucking wet, you—” That thought seems to catch up with Dean the second it comes out of his mouth and Sam feels a cold rush as the blood drains from his face. There’s a second of stony, shocked silence before reality flickers around them and Sam is flat on his back and breathless, Dean’s hand on his throat. He needn’t have done that, though.

The second Sam registers Dean’s eyes are black, all the air in the room seems to leave him. Sam can’t even gasp when Dean slithers one of his fingers in beside his dick, feeling the slick slip out down his hand.

“You fucking whore, you _did_ want it,” Dean says icily, face twisted somewhere between mocking disgust and wild laughter as his gaze slides down to Sam’s erection. “You slicked up for big brother’s dick? You missed getting railed by demons _that much?_ ”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam says, or tries to say, it only comes out on a wheeze.

Dean leans down into Sam’s face, grin sharp and unrecognizable. “Must mean you don’t like it soft, Sammy,” he hisses and Sam is only allowed to gasp when Dean nearly folds him in half, pressing his legs back in a painful stretch. Still, the magic in him _sings_ when it allows Dean to slide even deeper; he closes his eyes when they threaten to roll back in pleasure. He grunts when Dean suddenly digs his fingers into his jaw, shaking him by the face.

“ _No_ ,” he growls and Sam stares up into the inky voids of black where his brother’s eyes should be, “ _I want you to fucking look at me when I take it from you_.” Sam’s mouth falls open around a groan when Dean truly starts to fuck into him, pinning Sam with tendrils he can’t even see but that are hot on his skin, “Ain’t nothing else for you but me, Sammy.”

And Sam shouldn’t latch onto that as a comfort, but he does. There’s nothing here for him but Dean, he’s here just for Dean, no matter what he does or says, no matter what _either_ of them does or says. No matter what the situation, Sam has always felt most whole with all of Dean’s attention singled on him. Some days, _most_ days if he’s honest, he truly, truly loves being the one thing Dean cares about more than anything else in the world.

Right now, trapped under his body, under his _spirit_ , with Dean’s eyes boring into his as they are united in the one way Sam never imagined they could be, Sam feels himself sinking into that place, that feeling of being _Dean’s_. Fighting it wouldn’t get him anywhere anyway. _It never does,_ he thinks and just… lets go. He feels Dean swell around him, _in_ him the moment he does, hips stuttering sharply, _affected_.

Sam notices one of the candles flicker out in his peripherals. He’s relieved it’s working, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Dean, doesn’t let himself think outside this.

“Yeah, Sammy, yeah you want it,” Dean says, raking his nails down Sam’s thighs. “Fucking look at you, split open on me, you love it.”

Sam doesn’t think, it doesn’t matter what he says. “ _Yeah,_ ” he gasps because Dean feels so good, the potion eases the drag of his strokes, but also sparks through Sam with every single one. He wishes he could _move_ , he feels vacant, feels like _breaking_ when Dean pulls out too far, like all he’s meant for is holding Dean’s arousal. Dean must feel a bit of the same way because his strokes get shorter; barely pulling out at all, he’s grinding himself down into Sam, stretching his rim with every motion. He’s sweating and babbling under his breath, some of it Sam isn’t even sure is English, but still has Sam’s heart shaking in his chest.

“Draggin’ you to hell, you hear? …Mine forever, fuck Stanford, fuck _you_ , you son of a _bitch_ , always wanted… _take you raw._ ” Dean is a mess, but he can’t be all aware of it, of the way his speech is losing the demonic edge, just human and angry and _Sam loves this voice._ The more it sounds like the brother he knows, the more Sam’s arousal aches him. It aches so deep he nearly can’t take it.

Sam moans wordlessly, silently begging for everything Dean is already giving him, begging for it to end with _Dean_ coming back to him.

The room darkens as another candle flickers out and Dean is plastered to Sam like he can’t get enough skin on him. Everywhere they’re touching is a livewire and Sam is shaking with it, wishes his hands were free to hold on because this is so good he’s going to blow apart. It’s going to hurt when the spell wears off, some part of him knows this, but then Dean’s sweaty face drops to his shoulder and, for now, the contact has him writhing. The spell’s done something to them, every touch has him flying closer to an edge that keeps backing away, he needs—

Dean abruptly lets Sam’s legs sag out of his grip and Sam startles when his feet smack the floor. He looks sharply to the side as Dean slows to a stop and finds three candles still burning, they’re not done yet.  Even without the count down, he would know, because it _aches_ now. Dean not moving in him _hurts_ , because it’s _not right,_ that’s not what they need. Sam needs Dean, his arousal, his focus, his _fucking,_ all of it, _why is he stopping_?

“Sam,” Dean says, muttered into his shoulder, and Sam can’t make the inflection out for any specific emotion and that actively scares him.

“ _D-don’t stop,_ ” Sam lets himself say, rocking under his brother. “You’re right I want—” He freezes when he realizes he _can_ rock, the tendrils of Dean’s powers no longer pinning his body to the floor. “Dean?”

“… _Sammy?_ ” Dean’s voice is a broken mess and when he yanks back Sam understands, mind clearing instantly.

Dean’s eyes are clear – beautiful forest green like they’ve never even known another color.

Sam brightens and sobers all at once, reaching up for Dean’s face. “ _You’re back_.”

From one blink to the next, Dean goes from shock to _horror,_ eyes blowing wide and face paling in a way on anyone else would precede hysterical screaming. But Sam knows his brother and feels his whole body tense to move the split second before Sam locks his legs around Dean, hands gripping his wrists. “ _Don’t pull out!!_ ”

“ _What?_ ” Dean gasps, shaking all over as he looks down at them. He looks like he might be sick. “Holy fuck, Sam, _holy_ —”

“You’re ok, it’s ok,” Sam says quickly against the mounting panic in his brother’s eyes. “It’s a spell, Dean, you’ve—you gotta—”

“A sp—? You…” Dean’s face crumbles. He looks devastated and Sam’s heart is sinking in his chest as he watches his brother’s eyes fill with tears. “You _knew_ I would—” He doesn’t finish the sentence, he doesn’t have to. Sam is already shaking his head.

“I know you would try to prove you were gone by doing the one thing I _knew_ you never would,” Sam corrects, shifting uncomfortably as a sharp stab of _need_ pulses through him. “I know you, Dean. I knew which buttons to press.”

That doesn’t made Dean look any less broken open and Sam knew this would hurt him, but not like this, not while there’s still work to do. He swallows, forces himself to focus. “ _United in blood and bound in seed_ ,” Sam recites, “One of us has to-to _finish_ for it to work.”

 “I’m couldn’t fucking—!!” Dean starts, but it’s not true, they know it’s not. Whether it be the spell or the last of his powers, Dean is still throbbing hard inside his brother. “ _Sam!_ ” he gasps like he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Ok, Dean, I can, _I_ will,” he says. He knows the vice he’s feeling on his dick since Dean stopped moving is largely psychosomatic, but _still_. He’s doing this to save Dean, first and always, but he could stand to not feel like his dick’s getting twisted, too. “One of us _has_ to or we’ll be right back at square one.”

Sam is prepared for Dean to say he should let him rot in this cell, should _kill_ him, because he’s unsalvageable or unworthy, and Sam is ready to fight all of it. But Dean, who knows Sam as well as Sam knows him, sees it all in his face. He stares down at Sam in horror, fully understanding the extent to which Sam will go.

It’s exactly as far as Dean would go, which is to say if Dean pulls out now and regresses, Sam will just be back in here, spread open for a version of Dean who doesn’t care if he’s hurt. If Dean gives up on himself, he’s just making Sam drag a heavier weight, because he’s never going to drop Dean.

Another candle flickers out and Sam nearly sags in relief. Dean is onboard, even if he can’t say it in as many words yet.

Dean’s face is still twisted, Sam can feel his urge to punch something and doesn’t let go of his wrists. “I’m… _God damn it,_ Sam, I’m so—” So sorry, so fucked up, so guilty, so much, so everything, so _what?_

“Don’t apologize, Dean,” Sam says, “Please, just… make me feel good?”

The bewildered expression that crosses Dean’s face is better than the self-loathing. “ _What?_ ”

Sam swallows and shifts again, just to give himself a breath of respite. “Don’t think of it like _taking_ , think of it like giving. Dean, give it to me,” he offers a wobbly smile, “You were never one to leave someone hanging, right? I want you, I want you so—”

A candle flares back to life and Sam nearly loses his grip on Dean when he rears back suddenly. “ _Don’t lie to me!_ ”

“I’m not,” Sam assures him hurriedly, “Dean, you feel so good, I—shit, I always wondered…” He bites his lip and clenches experimentally, the pleasure sparking up his spine and making him groan. Dean lets out a shocked breath, eyes going wide with a completely different emotion. “I wanted to know how you would…”

Sam has never wanted to be a woman, except in the moments he’s seen how Dean looks at them. It’s damn close to how he’s looking at Sam right now, as the pain and horror slowly leech from his eyes.

“I’ve always thought—I wanted you to— Dean, don’t stop or it won’t—” Sam can’t figure out what to say, how much confessing would scare Dean off, but he doesn’t have to worry. Dean, experimentally, _gently_ shifts in and out and Sam’s whole body goes lax. “ _Yeah, fuck, like that._ ”

“Yeah?” Dean asks quietly, still strung tight but a new sort of shock in his eyes. Sam gets to see the color rushing back into his face just before a candle goes out and casts shadow across his brother’s cheek.

“Yeah, yes, _please_ ,” Sam begs and then just groans when Dean shifts on his knees, hauling Sam up into his lap, rocking his hard cock inside him. Sam never quite lets go of his wrists and Dean doesn’t tug away, leaves his hands settled on Sam’s waist as he starts to thrust into him again. “Yeah, Dean, give it to me, just give it. I’ll take it, I want— _fuck._ ”

It’s better now, it’s so much better. Because Sam knows Dean is good at hard and fast, but now Dean is rocking slow and deep. It’s like he’s stuck there, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted, but still wants to make it last. Sam groans, rolling his head back when Dean finds the right angle to turn Sam into a trembling, boneless mess, clenching his hands on Dean’s wrists.

Sam feels it like a shock when Dean kisses his stomach. He looks back down at him, the way he’s craned down to reach the skin, eyes closed as though in thought. “Dean?”

“I lied,” Dean says without preamble.

Sam doesn’t want to know. “About?”

“I never…” Dean’s face is suddenly drawn and Sam goes cold, because he _knows_ where that’s going. He’s abruptly disgusted at his own arousal, this was never supposed to be about him. The spell isn’t for him, yet he’s still leaking across his stomach, wanting more, more, more, now, after and always when Dean never wanted _any of it_ to begin with, only even brought it up to humiliate him. Dean was a demon _then_ , what’s Sam’s excuse _now_?

“I know,” Sam swallows, controls his expression as best he can. “I’m sorry, I know you never thought about me like this, but I couldn’t just—”

“That’s not it,” Dean cuts in.

“Dean, really, I—”

“I mean I always kissed you first,” Dean confesses against Sam’s stomach, like it’s the most inexcusable thing he’s said today. “Woulda been easier if I was just thinking with my dick. Just hopped up on hormones, half asleep and not thinking straight, you know?” he explains when he sees the confusion on Sam’s face.

Sam blinks, denial on the tip of his tongue, but it dies before he can voice it. He _knows_ his brother, he’s not being lied to. “But you weren’t?” he asks quietly.

Dean shakes his head, twinging and pressing deeper into Sam who lets out a sharp breath in response. “Whenever I thought of you— _us_ , I…” There’s a question in his eyes when he looks up this time, “I always kissed you first.”

Sam could fucking cry. “Yes,” he gasps and lets go of Dean’s wrists only to haul him forward by his hair and slot their mouths together. “ _Yes, yes—_ ” he gasps into their shared breath, against Dean’s lips, around his tongue. It shortly turns into wanton begging as though that final connection was all they needed, the room darkening another shade as a candle fizzles out. Dean kissing him makes him feel more right in his skin than anything else ever has, the magic is _tripping over itself_ to catch up with the pleasure that is just Sam and just Dean and just the two of them together and is taking over everything.

Dean’s breath starts to shiver in a way years of living in entirely-too-close quarters tells Sam he’s about to lose it. Sam wraps his arms around him, leverages himself up to meet his thrusts. “Give it to me,” he whimpers against Dean’s mouth, “Come in me, Dean, give it, please—”

“ _Sam,_ ” Dean grunts and loses all semblance of rhythm, pumping his hips unsteadily before locking up, pressed deep as he spills into Sam, moaning into his mouth.

Sam feels it happen like the snap of something finally clicking into place under his skin. He feels Dean’s _heartbeat_ kick start in his _soul,_ the presence of his brother’s returned humanity lighting up the entirety of his being. He comes so hard Dean’s weight over him is the only thing that keeps him on the ground as he shouts, arching up and coming across Dean’s chest.

The edges of everything feel blurred in that moment, soft and warm, like they’ve melted together into one thing. Sam is clinging to Dean, taking this feeling to heart because _this_ is the moment where he’d expected the pain to start. He’d imagined Dean coming back to himself and wrenching away, heard all the imaginary things Dean would scream at him. Sam was fully prepared to clean himself up alone, Dean furious and hurt and disgusted and avoiding him. He’d been ready for—no, he’d never be ready for that, but he’d _accepted it_.

But everything is fuzzy and gentle and Dean is still here, heart pounding hard enough that Sam can feel it knocking on his own ribs. Dean isn’t yanking away, he’s just resting there, staring down at Sam in wonder. In fact, his hand has slid up from Sam’s side, all the way to cup his jaw.

“Sammy?” he sounds uncertain, like one wrong look from Sam would be enough to send him running, to break everything.

“Dean,” Sam replies and thinks to say “ _It’s ok_ ” or “I _love you_ ”, but when Dean lets out a breath so sudden his whole body jerks with it, he thinks Dean hears it in his tone. The way they say each other’s names often holds more weight than entire conversations. “ _Dean,_ ” Sam sighs, calls, asks, begs and Dean is listing towards him, magnetized and helpless to— _unwilling_ to resist. Sam closes his eyes when Dean’s lips touch his, this time, gentle and loving and _Dean._

Sam even doesn’t have to look to know the last candle has burnt out, like it knows they don’t need it anymore.

Dean’s soul, pressed right up against Sam’s, is light enough on its own.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading…have a bright and shining new year 
> 
> Bubbles, you are delightful and I hope you enjoyed your piece. Regardless, feel free to scream at me about it (or anything else). ❤
> 
>  
> 
> The “consent” in this story is all sorts of fucked due to the fact that it starts out demon!Dean but in the middle of it all he abruptly turns and doesn’t feel right about fucking Sam. But then Sam “talks him down” so to speak which I would still flag as extremely dubious. But, in the spirit and voice of the undead author, they’ve both wanted each other for years and it’s eaten them alive in quite moments, but going forward, they’ll fight off those teeth together.


End file.
